


Damn my leg!

by KittieHill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Horny Sherlock, Hurt John, M/M, Orgasms, PWP, Silly, broken leg, cuteness, ridiculous fluff, wheelchair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 16:02:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14108991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: The saying “doctors make the worst patients” had never been more true. John had griped and moaned, insisting on fighting against pain medication until his resolve had snapped and he had allowed the emergency doctor to give him enough morphine to be transported out of the house and into the hospital where his broken limb was put into a cast and he was pushed into a wheelchair. His attempt at using crutches had failed after an hour as it put more pressure and strain on his old war wound- which left him with no other choice than to use the chair whenever he needed to get around.Sherlock had been sympathetic for the first week. He had been uncharacteristically tender and caring, fetching John endless cups of tea and dealing with his medication and food so that John could rest and recover from his injury. This had lasted three weeks, until finally Sherlock's will had snapped and he stood naked in front of John, his cock hard and leaking, as he blocked John's view of The Chase on the telly.





	Damn my leg!

**Author's Note:**

> I was struggling with writer's block and asked for prompts on Tumblr. Mary-Jo-Holmes suggested this and the fic was born!
> 
> Beta'd by FinAmour who is bloody lovely and helped to sort out my terrible punctuation.
> 
> Please comment, I am a praise whore.

John sighed as he wheeled his way back into the living room, struggling once more with the narrowness of the doorway as he eased himself through, careful to tuck in his grazed fingers this time. The wheelchair was a short-term aid to help him get around the flat whilst his broken leg healed itself. John would have liked to claim that he had broken his leg doing something heroic: saving a child from a burning building, or rescuing a nun from terrorists… but, in fact, it had happened at home as he attempted to climb out of the shower. Sherlock had awoken to the sharp cry as John slipped on the wet tub and crumpled to the floor with a sickening snap.

The saying “doctors make the worst patients” had never been more true. John had griped and moaned, insisting on fighting against pain medication until his resolve had snapped and he had allowed the emergency doctor to give him enough morphine to be transported out of the house and into the hospital where his broken limb was put into a cast and he was pushed into a wheelchair. His attempt at using crutches had failed after an hour as it put more pressure and strain on his old war wound- which left him with no other choice than to use the chair whenever he needed to get around.

Sherlock had been sympathetic for the first week. He had been uncharacteristically tender and caring, fetching John endless cups of tea and dealing with his medication and food so that John could rest and recover from his injury. This had lasted three weeks, until finally Sherlock's will had snapped and he stood naked in front of John, his cock hard and leaking, as he blocked John's view of The Chase on the telly.

“John, I want to have sex,” Sherlock said bluntly, gesturing at his penis. “It's been three weeks now; four, if you disregard the fellatio which happened the day before your accident.”

John couldn't help but smile as he skimmed his eyes over Sherlock's body. He had missed the tender lovemaking of course- their relationship had always included an extremely healthy sex life. But the medication and pain left him with no sex drive whatsoever, and so he hadn't intimately reached for Sherlock for a while.

“Stop smirking!” Sherlock snapped, “This is your fault. You have made my body accustomed to a certain amount of sexual stimuli which has now been taken away, and  _ I cannot think! _ ”

“Sherlock...” John smiled, shaking his head. “Go and have a wank.”

“No!” Sherlock scoffed. “That doesn't help. My pesky penis just becomes tumescent again. It seems to crave your touch.”

“Daft bugger,” John grinned, reaching out for Sherlock and pulling him down to sit beside him on the sofa.

Seemingly excited by the prospect of sex, Sherlock willingly and quickly sat close to John, twisting so he could rest his head into the crease of John's neck, and inhaling that beautiful 'John' scent he had missed so much- not that he would ever admit it out loud.

John turned his head and kissed Sherlock, deepening it quickly and making it wet and desperate as he chased Sherlock's tongue with his own, his hand moving into the dark curls whilst his other hand pushed against his own crotch. Normally, John's cock was immediately interested in anything to do with Sherlock's nakedness, but it seemed that the strong pain medication he was taking was making it sluggish. And regardless of how much coaxing he tried, John couldn't make it hard.

Moving his hand from his own cock, John wrapped his thicker hand around Sherlock's stiff prick, stroking around the slick tip with his thumb and spreading the precome around and around, listening to the soft hitch of Sherlock's breath as the pleasure rushed through his body. It didn't take long until Sherlock was shaking, mewling into John's mouth as his orgasm rushed over him and he came hard in long, thick pulses across his stomach and chest.

Gentling his touch, John stroked Sherlock through his orgasm before pulling away from the kiss and smiling bashfully. “Sorry… It won’t be forever. I miss you too.”

Hazy from his orgasm, Sherlock hummed and nuzzled into John's jaw.

* * *

Eight weeks.

The final stretch now. Only a few more days until his blasted cast could be removed and he could start walking alone, carefully, without his wheelchair.

John almost couldn't wait.

The pain wasn't so bad anymore; the worst part was the ever constant itch in his plaster that he couldn't reach. As a doctor, he knew that he shouldn't put anything down there, and he certainly shouldn't be using any object to scratch himself. But the temptation was almost overwhelming, especially as he was getting ready for bed.

Pushing himself through the hallway towards the bed he shared with Sherlock, John stopped at his bedside and began to undress himself, pulling the jumper over his head and throwing it onto the pile of washing by the doorway. He had just undone his fly button when Sherlock exited the bathroom through the other door, his hair and body still damp and covered only by his thin, pale blue gown.

John couldn't help but be captivated by the steam-surrounded detective as he walked into the room, eyes glittering rudely as he ran them across John's bare chest appreciatively. Feeling a twitch in his cock, John looked down and noticed that he was half hard. Obviously, the lower doses of his medication no longer affected his sexual response.

“Hi,” John practically purred, reaching out for Sherlock. “You look lovely.”

“Do I?” Sherlock asked coyly, stalking towards John with a mischievous look in his eye.

John watched as Sherlock walked towards him. The detective stopped inches away from John, close enough that his hand was able to carefully coax down his zipper. He opened up the doctor's jeans, tugging them down, reaching in to grasp John's cock in his hand.

Moaning loudly, John felt his hips buck upwards as his cock filled rapidly, soon throbbing with arousal as Sherlock teased his tip with slow, gentle touches.

All too suddenly, the feeling was gone, and John was disappointed when his cock was left to thud against his belly as Sherlock took a step back. Watching intently, John couldn't help but stare as Sherlock lifted his dressing robe, and then climbed up to straddle John whilst he was still in the wheelchair.

“Sher --” John began, only to be cut off by Sherlock's lips as he kissed him with a fiery passion. John's complaints immediately stopped as he felt the hot, hot heat of Sherlock's buttocks pressing against his erection. Gasping loudly, John wrapped one hand around the arm of the wheelchair, keeping it steady whilst the other moved to Sherlock's hip to keep him in place. The detective awkwardly squatted, positioning himself directly over John's cock, before using his hand to guide John's erection into his hot, wet, tight hole.

“Oh, Christ,” John moaned, head thrown back against the back of the chair as he gripped Sherlock's waist tighter, “Fuck… you….”

“I prepared myself,” Sherlock said smugly. “I was fingering myself in the bathroom as you undressed.”

“Oh,” John groaned, feeling the inches of his shaft slowly stretching Sherlock wider. They kept it slow, Sherlock controlling the how deep John penetrated him whilst also clenching down occasionally, massaging the cock from inside.

“I missed you,” Sherlock mumbled as he nuzzled against John's jaw and behind his ear. “I missed this.”

“Me too,” John sighed, ignoring the creak of the chair as Sherlock circled his hips, obviously searching for his prostate. There was a hitched cry when John's cock nudged against the small gland, and John looked down just in time to see a thick river of precome leaking from Sherlock's slit onto John's belly.

Moving slowly but lovingly, both men relearned one another’s bodies, taking their time as they shared kisses and breaths. Sherlock's cock rubbed against John's toned stomach, leaving a trail of wetness against his skin with each pass.

It couldn't last though, and both men realised they were close to orgasm as Sherlock gripped his cock and thrust his hips faster, deeper, and with less finesse. John could only hold on tightly as Sherlock rode him hard- unaffected by the creaking and unhappy wheelchair- his damp curls bouncing with each movement and his cock thudding against John's belly.

“Fuck….” John called out, fingers aching from the hard grip on the arm of the chair. “Fuck, Sherlock… Sherlock I'm going to come...”

“Yes – yes – me too, John. Oh god, Oh please. I need it… I need it...” Sherlock chanted, eyes squeezed tightly together as his muscles clenched hard. “Oh, John, please...”

Swatting Sherlock's hand out of the way, John grabbed for Sherlock's cock and squeezed, stroking it rapidly and slightly rough as his hips made short, sharp jabs up into his body. The detective keened high and loud as his stomach muscles fluttered and he came with a garbled cry of John's name, his hole spasming around John's cock as he milked his intense orgasm from him.

Crying out, John threw his head back and felt his cock pulsing inside of Sherlock, shooting hard into his lover until both men were spent and exhausted, thankful for the chair which was taking their weight as they shivered with oversensitivity.

“That was – remarkable,” Sherlock giggled, kissing the side of John's neck.

“Hmmm,” John barely replied, feeling like his entire life force had been ejected from his body via his orgasm. Instead of speaking, John ran his fingers up and down Sherlock's spine, feeling the warm silk against his skin as he held his lover close.

Enjoying the afterglow, neither man was prepared as the wheelchair gave a dramatic creak before the wheel buckled, sending Sherlock toppling sideways and off onto the floor with a heavy thud- John's cock and semen slipping out with a dramatic rush.

“Christ!” John called out, reaching down with his arm to steady himself as he felt the chair lurch again. “I'm going to fall, Sherlock! Help me!”

Moving quickly, Sherlock stood with a grimace as the flood of ejaculate slipped down his thigh. Holding on to John's shoulders, together they managed to transfer him onto the bed where John could look over at his now broken chair. “Well… that's going to be awkward to explain.”

“We'll worry about that tomorrow,” Sherlock yawned, throwing off his robe and shuffling into bed beside John, their naked skin pushing together. “I'll have Mycroft send a replacement.”


End file.
